


Birthright

by aaahha



Category: Football RPF
Genre: Alternate Universe - Fantasy, Arranged Marriage, M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-09-10
Updated: 2018-09-02
Packaged: 2018-12-26 04:56:17
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 12
Words: 18,850
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12051780
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/aaahha/pseuds/aaahha
Summary: “And what of Martin?” Illian said.There was a stretch of silence as mother gathered her thoughts. “No one else has the influence, the armies we need.” She paused, for effect Martin thought. “But the King of Endmark does.”Father’s brow pinched. “King Agger has no daughters.”“No,” mother said, and the corners of her mouth lifted in a ghost of a smile. “But I’ve heard tell that his youngest shares Martin’s proclivities.”





	1. Chapter One

**Author's Note:**

> This entire thing is planned out, but I have not written much more than this so far, so I'm afraid this won't be updated fast. I hope you'll bear with me anyway.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This entire thing is planned out, but I have not written much more than this so far, so I'm afraid this won't be updated fast. I hope you'll bear with me anyway.

The summons came before dawn. Martin rushed to get dressed, while one of his father’s guards stood over him. The messenger must have arrived with big news. Martin couldn’t guess as to what, though. He’d never been an active participant in these councils, though he and Andrius had been attending them since the winter they turned sixteen. 

Father was grooming them for rule, and until now all they’d done was observe the proceedings. Martin couldn’t be sure the same wouldn’t happen now, but still he vowed to get there before Andrius. 

The war room was vast and half empty. Only the King and his top advisors were there when Martin arrived just behind Andrius. No points in his favor for that one. 

His father looked up. “Boys.”

The heavy wooden door shut behind them with a thump and the messenger stood up from his chair at the long table. “The Batavian Emperor is dead.” Met with silence, he continued. “He named his daughter his successor, but his nephew wants the throne.”

“What’s in Sylvakia’s best interest?” Father asked before Martin had so much as thought it. 

Illian, Father’s top advisor nodded thoughtfully. “Taria would be a fair ruler,” he said. “And she’s got no ambitions to expand the Empire. But Kharo and his father have long coveted our Flatlands. Every few years the Batavians living there get ideas about reunifying with them. The Flatlands are responsible for a third of our harvest. We simply cannot afford to lose those crops.”

“And there’s no guarantee they’d stop at the Flatlands.” The military advisor suggested. 

Father shook his head, but it wasn’t in disagreement. “How would our army fare should it come to a conflict?”

“Too close to call, but that’s nothing but a guess, your highness.”

A strange hush came over the room when mother glided in. “We need allies,” she said. “But any alliance must not be obvious.”

Father pulled out the chair between him and Martin. “You have a suggestion, I presume?”

“It’s simple. We marry the boys into powerful families. In exchange for our promise to defend their kingdom should they need it, they shall have to make a similar one to us.”

Andrius spared Martin a look. Neither had been invited to speak, but if ever there was motivation...

“You have a bride in mind?” Father said.

“I might have an idea or two, but we’ll have to do it in an official manner. Have a ball. Invite noble-born women of marrying age and pick the ones we want.”

Illian seemed to consider it. “That will take time, your grace.” 

“Staging a coup takes time as well, Illian. Not to mention waging war right after it might not prove to be too wise a move on Kharo’s part. Let us not forget that Kharo’s army will need time to rest and gather numbers again. Taria will not leave the throne willingly.”

Martin had been hearing it every so often from mother that it was past time a match was made for him and Andrius both, but he’d never been enthusiastic about it. His ambition was to be named crown prince and he’d worked long and hard for it. A wife had never factored into his plans. The same was undoubtedly true of his brother. 

And yet, for the good of Sylvakia, he’d do it.

 

A sea of greens and whites adorned the palace’s grand ballroom. Martin and Andrius wore cloaks in the same colors –- their colors –- and to many a guest they would have looked indistinguishable from one another were it not for Andrius’s full head of hair. 

The guests themselves were highborn ladies from his kingdom and neighboring ones, as well as the patriarch of their families. Dressed in their best and wearing their family colors. 

Plastering a smile on his face, Martin did his best to mingle. He smiled where appropriate and charmed fathers as well as daughters, but never did the discomfort quite leave the pit of his stomach. If he were ever king he’d have to do things he didn’t want to, and he accepted that. But the last thing he wanted was to was take a wife.

Not far from where Martin stood, Andrius was working his own charms on a blushing young woman. His toothy smile and loud voice called attention to him. Too much for Martin’s taste. 

“Has the decision been made as to who is to be crown prince, your grace?” 

Martin turned to see a man not much older than him, arm locked with a girl not much more than sixteen. “He hasn’t, lord...?”

“Ryall, your grace,” the man said. “It is an unusual solution, is it not? Begging your pardon, but why didn’t he simply make the one born first his heir to the throne?” 

Martin mustered a smile quite contrary to what he felt like doing. “He’d rather train both of us and choose the one more suited to ruling. Arbitrarily selecting the one born a few breaths earlier didn’t agree with him. But I suppose not everyone will see it the same way he does.” He turned the smile up further. “As you said it is rather unusual.”

He’d not handled that as gracefully as he’d have liked, but still the man nodded in acknowledgement. Martin would have to work his charm to smooth things over further. He did not want to think how Andrius would have reacted to a similar question. After all, Martin had been the one born before him. For the next chat he’d put his best foot forward and outshine Andrius. Diplomacy was his strength where it was Andrius’s weakness.

Mother did not look happy. Perhaps she’d hoped for more influential people or just more of them. He could see too many local lords in attendance, and not enough foreign royals and noblemen. Only a scarce few had armies at their command and fewer still had the numbers they needed.

 

Late that night, Martin made his way into the kitchens. He couldn’t fathom sleeping after the events of the day. His mind wouldn’t quit long enough to let him.

“What brings you here at this time of night?” the cook’s assistant said.

Martin’s smile was weak, his heart barely in it. “Is there any wine left from the feast this afternoon?” He’d not seen this young man before. He might have just recently found employment in the palace. 

“I’m afraid not, your grace. But there’s more of your mother’s summer wine. Caskets of it.”

The smile stretched, feeling more real. “She does like that one. Bring me a glass of it. Only one.” When the cook’s assistant disappeared into the wine storage he left the door half-open. “What’s your name?”

“Hamlyn, your grace.” And a moment later he came out again, the wine in his hand. 

Martin leant against the table. “Have you worked here long? I don’t think I’ve seen you before.”

“And I’ve not seen you, your grace.” He eyed him in open fascination. 

Taking a sip, Martin watched as Hamlyn followed the glass to his lips. Maybe it wasn’t just fascination. It seemed a little more lustful than that. He couldn’t deny that the attention agreed with him. His body stirred awake, slowly but surely.

Hamlyn was not particularly attractive. His teeth were crooked and his nose was much too bulbous for his thin face, but all the same Martin’s blood seemed to warm under his gaze. He’d always liked being wanted.

Martin stared back and just short of stepping closer he heard the door open and swiveled around to see the tall, regal form of his mother standing in the doorway.

“Martin, a word if you please,” she said and turned around back the way she had come. Martin had no choice but to follow. 

Outside in the hallway, she stopped. “Are you bedding him?”

He’d long since given up being surprised by her ability to read a room at just a glance. “No.”

“Then what were you doing just the two of you at this time of night?”

“I couldn’t sleep. Thought I’d have a glass of wine.”

Her stare was unwavering. “And the winery couldn’t accommodate you?” She held up a hand to preemptively stop him speaking. “I don’t care if you bed men. I just wonder if you enjoy women as well. Did someone catch your eye at the ball?” 

“Does it matter? If the arrangement is for allies and armies?”

“It does.” She brushed the tips of her fingers to his cheek in a fleeting touch. “We’ll certainly try and pick a young woman from a country or kingdom that can and will deliver the things we need, but you’ll still have to stay married to her. Wouldn’t hurt to be interested in her.”

He’d resigned himself to this arrangement for the kingdom, not for personal reasons. “It doesn’t matter to me.” 

“Because you’re not attracted to women,” she said, no question in her voice. “I’ve found a wife for Andrius, but the turnout for the ball was smaller than I’d hoped. We might have to go a little unorthodox.” She took his hand in her slender one. “If you were to be king but didn’t have children or prospects of having them, who would succeed you?” 

He searched her face for hints of her thoughts but found only her steady gaze locked with his. “I suppose Sebastian could be crown prince.”

Mother smiled. “And your sister would be proud to have you name her son your heir.”

And she let go of his hand and walked off, apparently satisfied with that.

 

The council met again the next morning. The news from the Batavian Empire was much the same as it had been two months before. Taria sat on the throne while Kharo plotted to usurp her.

“As for the boys’ marriages...” father said. “Jacquelyn?”

Mother stood up. “Andrius will take Thea Selom as his wife.”

“Do you agree?” Father said and for the first time Andrius was part of the proceedings of the council.

He bowed his head in a single nod. “I do.”

“And what of Martin?” Illian said. 

There was a stretch of silence as mother gathered her thoughts. “No one else has the influence, the armies we need.” She paused, for effect Martin thought. “But the King of Endmark does.”

Father’s brow pinched. “King Agger has no daughters.”

“No,” mother said, and the corners of her mouth lifted in a ghost of a smile. “But I’ve heard tell that his youngest shares Martin’s proclivities.”

Illian recovered his shock quickly. “Though that may be true, and royalty are allowed to marry members of the same sex in certain situations, the margins are narrow and the rules numerous.”

“I am well aware of that. And I have it all worked out.”

“Does that take Martin out of the running for crown prince?” Trust Andrius to try and seize the chance to grab the position. 

But mother shook her head. “No. He’s agreed to make Sebastian his heir should he be king someday.”

“Do you agree to wed King Agger’s son and make your nephew your heir?”

Like the day before, it didn’t matter who Martin married. Sylvakia needed this and he owed it to his kingdom to do everything he could to protect it. “I do.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I do apologize for the less than creative name of the boys' respective kingdoms but I wanted names that seemed to fit with where they are from in real life, so that's why they sound remarkably similar. Made up a bunch of names and nothing felt like it fit except these.


	2. Chapter Two

When Daniel arrived at the Silverstone Palace, he found it not to be silver at all, but pale grey. From the cylindrical tower of the Gatehouse came the Gatekeeper’s voice. “Who goes there?”

Daniel dismounted. “Prince Agger of Endmark.” He was late. Had he not had to detour near the flooded plains of the Two Hands, he’d have arrived a day earlier and not mere hours before his planned wedding.

The gate opened without another word. “Where’s your banner, boy?” The Gatekeeper side eyed him.

“Didn’t seem like the best idea to ride through the Batavian Empire shoving our new alliance in their faces.”

The Gatekeeper took the horse’s reins. “We’re not at war yet. Are all you Endish so paranoid?”

“I can only speak for myself.”

The Gatekeeper shook his head. “Go on then. Straight ahead you’ll find the Inner Gate and they’ll escort you to your prince.” He snorted and waved him off. 

It wasn’t unheard of for royal servants to be a little lax in their deference to royals that weren’t their own, but to be all but laughed at stung a little. Daniel hadn’t been at court very long –- he was essentially useless as the youngest of his father’s five sons –- but he was still a prince. 

Once inside the Inner Gate, it was not ‘his’ prince Daniel met, but the Queen herself. “Prince Agger, you travel light.” She gestured to the bag he had strapped over his chest. “Did you not bring a single manservant?”

“I don’t need a servant, your grace.”

She gave a small nod of acquiescence. “Should you require one, you’re welcome to make use of ours. I’m afraid I’m quite busy at the moment, but I shall leave you in my daughter’s capable hands. I trust that will suffice?”

“Yes, your grace.”

She called out to her daughter and exited with as much grace as she had entered. 

The daughter curtseyed. “Prince Agger, welcome to Silverstone Palace.”

Daniel bowed. “Thank you, princess...”

“Paloma will be fine, your grace.”

Daniel’s mouth curved into a smile. “How would you feel if we abandoned the formalities? I’m not quite used to them.”

“Delighted.” She grinned. “Shall we begin with your quarters? Temporary, of course, as you’ll be sharing my brother’s chambers once the ceremony is over.”

“Sounds as good a place as any.” 

“You’re taller than I expected. As tall as Martin, I should think. That’s one way you could tell him and Andrius apart. Though I suppose a simpler way would be to look for the one without hair.” She stopped at a little wooden door. “This is it. It’s not much but hopefully enough for half a day.”

“Thank you.” 

He was barely inside when he heard footfalls beyond the door. “What are you doing?” A deep voice asked. “Spying?”

Paloma sighed. “Andrius, you’ve got to let it go. My moving back here has nothing to do with this silly contest father’s got you and Martin in. Mother didn’t want me and Sebastian on our own.”

“So you say.”

“I don’t have time for this. I need to tend to my child.” The sound of her steps gradually grew distant.

 

Bathed, dressed and nearly ready to face his impending wedding, Daniel sat in his chambers and waited when a knock came. 

Paloma stood on the other side of the door, her lavish gown brushing the marble floor. “Mother sent me to keep your company. I think she regrets the fact that you’re alone.”

“Why? I do fine on my own.”

“Mother doesn’t.” She breezed into the quarters and sat on the single chair adorning it. “Are you nervous? Do men get nervous for weddings?”

“I don’t know if all men do.” Daniel sat on the short and narrow bed. “I am.” He valued few things as much as his privacy but found no reason to lie to her about this. It wasn’t so personal, after all. He hadn’t even seen his intended yet.

“I was too. On my wedding day.” He cheeks tinged pink. “And night. I don’t suppose men worry about that.”

Daniel clasped his hands together between his open knees. “I don’t know.”

“Am I talking too much?”

Before Daniel could form a reply, someone else marched in. “If I were to take a guess, I’d say yes,” he said. And from the full head of hair, Daniel deduced this to be the famed twin brother of the other groom. 

“What are you doing here?” Paloma stood.

“Seeing that everything is in order.” He glanced at Daniel. 

“Mother already sent me to do that.”

Not bothering to respond, Andrius took the seat Paloma had vacated. “You’re thin.” His gaze swept over Daniel. “But I suppose you can’t bear children anyway, so it doesn’t matter in that respect. Is there any fight in you or do you just roll over and take it?”

“I wouldn’t make assumptions if I were you.”

“You’re not me. You’re a bargaining chip. Your value is on par with a woman’s, sold off to be married to a prince like a recently flowered little girl. But I should thank you. It’s unusual enough that father will have to think twice about making Martin the crown prince.” He tilted his head back and grinned. “You just doubled my chances of becoming King.” 

Quite unladylike, Paloma hit Andrius in the arm. “Will you get out?”

“I can see the kind of King you’ll be,” Daniel said. “You’ll rule with your fist instead of your head. Undo years of your father’s work with nary a thought. I wouldn’t want to be your subject,” His fingers paled, practically bloodless from how hard he’d clasped his hands together. “If marrying a man puts me on par with a woman, there are worse things to be. If you ascend to the throne, you’ll be one of them.”

Andrius leapt up. “How dare you judge me?”

Daniel rose as well, only a little taller than Andrius but using it to his advantage. “Like you judged me?” 

With a huff Andrius stormed out.

Daniel sat back down. Silence descended, and Paloma would not stop staring his way. He couldn’t quite look at her. Conflict, both real and imagined, brewed behind his eyes. 

“You know, I love both my brothers, but where Andrius bullies his way ahead, Martin tries to be what you want him to be,” Paloma said, voice just a shade too quiet.

Daniel breathed out deeply. “I don’t know that’s much better.”

The moment’s silence stretched into two. “It is. If for nothing else than their approaches.”

A commotion outside stopped Daniel from having to answer. In the corridor just outside, the Cleric argued with the Queen.

“I cannot in good conscience marry them,” the Cleric said.

The Queen held up a parchment. “I have all the necessary documentation approving this marriage, signed by the Archcleric himself.”

“Your grace, it is not their inclination to which I object. I serve the Allfather and as such, I cannot marry the other groom as he is not of the faith of the Allfather.”

It wasn’t Daniel’s place to argue that. Indeed, he couldn’t as the Cleric was right.

“Send for the Archcleric then,” the Queen said. “This wedding will take place if I have to marry them myself.”

“A marriage is not binding in the faith of the Allfather without a licensed Cleric to officiate.”

In contrast, most marriages in Endmark weren’t officiated. They didn’t believe in one God, but twelve, not one of which was the Allfather. All the Endish needed was a witness as proof of their nuptials and to say the vows. 

“Then send for the Archcleric,” the Queen demanded again. 

It was at this moment, Daniel first laid eyes on the man who would be his husband. He strode toward the scene in the hallway. “Mother, Your Eminence,” he said in a smoother voice than his brother’s ragged baritone. “Do either of you foresee a way to work through this predicament?”

“I’m afraid not.” The Cleric turned toward Daniel. “I mean no offence, your grace, but I’m afraid I must insist I cannot marry you.”

Before Daniel could speak on his own behalf, Martin had done it for him. “We understand your reluctance.” Daniel bit his lip to keep from speaking over him. “However, I’m sure the Archcleric was quite aware of the Endish belief when he signed the document. But he signed it anyway. Did he appoint you the task or did you volunteer for it before you knew one groom was polytheist?”

“His Eminence appointed me the task, your grace.”

“Then you shall have to carry it out.” 

 

After all the bustle leading up to it, the wedding flew by quickly. Daniel wore a cloak of black and red while Martin wore green and white. Their vows were simple promises to support one another and never stray. 

Martin danced with his mother and sister to a soft tune of harps, but neither he nor Daniel laid a finger on the other. 

The King partook of meat and wine, the latter a rare occurrence if Paloma was to be believed.

Even Andrius was on good behavior. Daniel was not naïve enough to believe their earlier clash forgotten, but for now it was pushed to the side.

Much too soon, the feast drew to a close. All that awaited them was the wedding night.

Martin walked a step in front of Daniel, perhaps used to manservants walking in his wake. Daniel didn’t like it. Yet, he walked behind him. The only words he’d exchanged with his husband had been mediated by the reluctant Cleric and Daniel did not relish the thought of being alone with him. 

The door thumped closed behind him. 

They were alone.

Martin unclasped his cloak and removed his shirt. 

Bolted to the floor just inside the room, Daniel didn’t so much as breathe loudly. Paloma had been nervous on her wedding night, but at least she’d known what was expected of her. Daniel wasn’t so sure. Most arranged marriages were for political reasons, but perhaps none so purely as this one. 

“Which side of the bed do you want?” Martin had undressed down to his smallclothes.

“I hope you’re not expecting to consummate.” 

Martin turned the covers down roughly. “I was trying to make you feel comfortable. You look like a caged animal. Afraid to move but your eyes are wild.”

Daniel’s back tensed and his feet moved of their own accord. “I am not afraid.”

“Maybe not afraid. But unhappy.” He sat down on the bed. “You needn’t worry about it. I didn’t exactly ask for this. All I want is to be named crown prince, and one day be King. A husband will only be an impediment.”

Daniel calmed, despite his natural reaction to disagree with being called an impediment. “While I had a choice, it wasn’t much of one. Marry you and my father gained an important ally. Refuse and I’d have lived with his scorn for the rest of my life. He couldn’t very well send me to foster again.”

Royalty were rarely sent to foster and Daniel could see surprise in Martin’s blue eyes before he blinked it away. “So neither of us wanted this. Good enough for me.”

Daniel removed his own clothes. “Your logic is deeply flawed.”

“See?” His lips twitched, almost to a smile. “We’re getting along already.”


	3. Chapter Three

Father sent Martin to find his mother. The council meeting would start soon and though she only attended them sporadically, today she’d planned to visit the Vision, a pool seers had sometimes used to ascertain a possible future.

He stopped short when he heard voices just inside the temple.

“Thinking of converting?” Paloma said. “I can’t say I understand this fascination with theology.”

The easy chuckle could only belong to Daniel and Martin leaned forward to see him and Paloma both. “It’s not theology. Or even fascination. Curiosity, more like.” He walked further into the temple and Martin swallowed. With the Vision around the corner from where he stood, Daniel needed only to walk two steps to see it. 

Magic had been outlawed and Martin didn’t trust anyone with this. He didn’t know Daniel well enough to guess what he’d do. 

“I heard a legend of your people once,” Paloma said and Martin was torn between rushing inside to interrupt them, to draw them out and leaving as if he was never there and feigning ignorance when Daniel inevitably stumbled upon their violation of the law. “When I was a little girl, my grandmother told me that ages ago, your Gods came down from the heavens and mixed with the people. Lived as they did, took wives and had children. Many years later, when the Gods returned home, the common folk made their children into what is now your royalty.” 

“That’s the thing about legends,” Daniel said. “They sound so implausible.”

“I find it interesting. Not because I believe it, but because it shows the kind of reverence your people have for their nobles.”

Daniel sat next to Paloma on the steps and Martin breathed a sigh of relief. “Maybe. But our relationship with the Gods is not like yours with your deity. They may be magnificent and awe-inspiring, but some of them are cold, some are cruel, and half of them make decisions they have no business making. Maybe my people recognized the same in the ruling class.”

“You don’t like your father, do you?”

“Paloma.” That was mother’s voice, distant but moving closer. “If you must spend all your time with your brother’s husband, try not to do it in public, dear. It’s unseemly.”

“My apologies, your grace,” Daniel said. “I’m afraid I asked for her company.”

“Yes, well--”

Martin strode in. “Mother, the council meeting. Father’s waiting.” He tried to look only at her, but couldn’t help that his eyes strayed to the left where Paloma and Daniel sat side by side on the temple steps. They looked comfortable together. Like friends.

In just three days, Paloma was closer to Daniel than Martin was. He may have been a distraction Martin couldn’t afford, but he regretted that they hadn’t found a common ground; a single thing connecting them beyond the bond of marriage.

They’d lie in bed after a day spent apart and not say a thing.

Neither of them said anything now, either. Daniel met his stare and for a brief moment, Martin wanted to smile at him, wink or wave, do something, anything to connect in some small way. But he didn’t. 

Mother’s reprimand went unvoiced and Martin escorted her to the meeting.

 

At last, Martin and Andrius participated fully in the council meetings, but at the cost of what little there was left of their relationship. Illian relayed the latest from the Batavian Empire: rumors that Kharo had gathered up an army 10,000 strong. War seemed all but inevitable. But first he’d have to take the Batavian throne. 

“With this threat, it calls into question our plan to sit and wait,” Illian said.

Father pursed his lips. “I’d rather sit and wait than ride out to war if we can avoid it. Any suggestions on how we can strengthen our position?”

“If the war really is inevitable,” Andrius said. “We should consider a preemptive strike.”

“War is what we’re trying to avoid, no matter how things look at the moment.” Father sat back in his chair and in under the yellow light of the lamps his long face looked sallow.

“Perhaps we could support Taria? If we strengthen her position, we strengthen ours,” Martin said. “Maybe send a division of men to the Capitol?”

But still father refrained from action. “No. I’d rather not commit our men to a cause that’s not our own.” 

“It’s best if we see how Kharo fares against Taria first,” the military advisor said. “If he suffers heavy losses, all this worrying and preparing will be for nothing.” As the commander of father’s guard, he had plenty else to occupy him, but the Batavian threat should’ve been high on his list of priorities.

Voices overlapped in response, but mother spoke over them. “I’ve been to the Vision,” she said. Martin exchanged a furtive glance with his father. These may have been the King’s most trusted advisors but people had been betrayed for this.

Silence reigned for a while. 

“What did you see?” Father finally said.

“War.”

“Send troops to the Flatlands, just in case,” father said, a light sheen of sweat breaking out across his forehead. “Nothing conspicuous, just a presence.”

The commander nodded and left the council right away to carry out his orders. 

“I thought we’d talked about limiting your time in the Vision,” Illian said.

He’d known. Martin had only found out recently and Illian had known.

“This war has been at the forefront of all our minds long enough. I simply sought to see if it was all for naught.”

Illian looked old and tired. Presumably he’d had this argument with the Queen more than once. “But let us not forget, your grace, that the Vision shows only one possible future of many. We can’t put too much stock in it.”

Mother tucked in her lip. “We would be preparing for war either way. If that’s settled, I’d like to speak with my husband alone,” she said in her most dismissive voice. 

Martin made to stand, but mother held out a hand. “Stay, would you, Martin?”

It was enough to give Andrius pause on his way toward the door, but she didn’t call him back. He eyed them all in quick succession, eyes tight but no other expression readable on his face.

Martin sat still and Andrius left.

“I’m worried about Paloma spending all that time with Daniel.”

Martin exhaled, the tension in his shoulders uncoiling. “What’s the harm? She’s lonely.” They were just friends, weren’t they? Both alone and isolated. Paloma’s husband, the coward, had left her in the middle of the night while she slept. And Martin hardly saw Daniel so busy was he competing to be named his father’s heir.

“She’s vulnerable. This is unbecoming of a princess and people have made rumors of less. He’s your husband. You shall have to talk to him.”

As hard as he worked to please his parents, Martin couldn’t grant them this. Not when Paloma had no one. And Daniel deserved a friendly shoulder too. “I can’t do that.”

“Martin--”

“I agree with the boy,” father said. “They’re family, if only by marriage. They’re both young with nothing to do and nowhere to go. Let them be.”

 

That night, Martin lied in bed and stared into the darkness. Daniel’s even breaths were as foreign a sound now as they had been the past three nights, but it wasn’t the reason for his inability to sleep.

“If you sigh one more time, I’m going to start thinking something’s bothering you,” Daniel said, lifting an arm out from under the covers. 

“I thought you were asleep. Am I keeping you up?”

“No. I’m still trying to get used to this.” The soft lilt of his accent was more prominent than before. He spoke the common tongue well, but Martin liked the accent.

Martin glanced toward him, but couldn’t see more than a silhouette in the darkened chamber. “Are the rumors about you true?”

“Which ones?”

Maybe he shouldn’t say anything. “That you prefer men?”

Daniel laughed, low and raspy. “Yes. Don’t you?” Sometimes he just didn’t sound very much like a prince. Martin liked that too.

“Yes. I do.”

 

The door thumped closed and Martin’s eyes flew open.

“Martin.” Mother’s voice pitched higher than usual. She shook Daniel awake before Martin could stop her.

“What’s the matter?” Martin said, scrambling to sit up.

“Oh,” mother said, as she became aware the naked shoulder she had under her grip wasn’t her son’s and drew back quickly. “Your father’s taken ill. You should be there. I’ve sent for the healer but he’s in the village. It may take a while.”

“Is it serious?” 

Daniel sat up. “I fostered with a healer. Maybe I can help.”

When his mother agreed summarily, Martin knew it was indeed serious.

Gathered in his father’s chambers were Martin’s siblings and nephew. Daniel bypassed them and laid the inside of his wrist on his father’s shiny forehead. He pointed to a servant standing uselessly at the foot of the bed. “Get cold cloths, a half cup of warm water and White Willow or Meadowsweet.”

The manservant rushed out to do his bidding. 

Father’s pale skin was a stark contrast to the dark sheets covering him. If it hadn’t been for the occasional lift of his chest and the guttural sound of every inhale, he’d have looked dead.

Only vaguely aware of his nephew’s questions, Martin stepped closer, but Daniel put a hand on his chest. “Give him some room for now.”

Numbly, Martin nodded.  
Andrius swore and Paloma paced until their mother told her to stop.

The servant returned with the supplies. Daniel placed the cloth on father’s forehead and crushed the herbs into the water. “Help me lift him up.” When Martin moved, so did Andrius. Together they managed to get the old man to drink most of the liquid. 

The Healer arrived, but it might have been later. Every moment felt like hours to Martin anyway. As he took over father’s care, Daniel crouched down in front of Sebastian. “Hello, little man,” Martin heard him say. “Remember me?”

His father drew in a labored breath and the next time Martin looked around, Daniel and Sebastian were gone.

Mother sat on the bed while the siblings sat on chairs. Paloma rested her head on Martin’s shoulder, her hair tickling against his neck. Placing an arm around her, Martin listened as mother prayed.

Andrius huffed. “How could you let that man leave with your son?”

“Why not?” She curled further into Martin. “Sebastian had a great time with him yesterday.”

Of course, Andrius would twist that around as well. “It’s distasteful how much time you spend with him. Invite Thea sometime instead. At least people won’t think you’re fucking her.”

“Absolutely,” mother injected. “You shouldn’t be alone with Daniel so often.”

Martin felt Paloma tense against his shoulder.“That’s enough of that,” he said quietly. “Let’s all simmer down. Turning on each other won’t help anything.” His gaze found his father fighting for every breath on the bed. Paloma took his hand and squeezed. 

At dawn, father took his last breath. 

The Healer checked his heart and his breathing. He simply shook his head.

“Out.” Mother stared at father lifeless on the bed. “All of you.”

After keeping vigil most of the night it didn’t feel right to leave, but mother looked ready to shove them out. Drained and numb, Martin returned to his quarters. 

Daniel sat on the bed, Sebastian curled into him in his sleep. “What news of your father?”

But Martin shook his head. He couldn’t speak of it. Not yet. “I-- Thank you. For everything.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The set-up should be over for the most part now. There's been a lot of it and hopefully not all so distracting as it seemed to be in this part. Either way, this part was hard to write, partially because juggling a lot of characters together in a scene isn't easy, but also because I couldn't quite get in Martin's head.


	4. Chapter Four

After his father’s burial, mother arranged a clandestine meeting just for family members. They squeezed into a dusty room, filled with furniture covered with cloths and specks of dust floated in the sunlight coming in through the partially covered windows. 

For a long moment, no one spoke. Mother eyed the door she’d shut behind them and had the look of a bewildered child.

“I suppose you’ll be making the decision on which of us is to be King?” Andrius said, never the patient sort.

Mother gave a minute shake of her head. “I will soon. I have a more pressing matter to discuss.” She glanced at the door again. When no one barged in, she continued. “Your father was murdered.”

Father’s sudden death was bound to feel off no matter what, so unprepared had they been for it. But mother hadn’t been alone since she was his age. It made sense she’d try to find someone to blame. “What makes you think so?” Martin said.

“A gut feeling.”

“Is that your proof? Gut feelings?” Andrius said. 

Martin’s skepticism echoed Andrius’ but tearing mother down when vulnerable was counterproductive. She’d never be bullied into seeing reason. “What makes you think his death was unnatural?” 

“People don’t die that quickly from illness.” Her voice sounded loud in the unnatural quiet of the room.

“You don’t know that,” Paloma said. “What does the healer think?”

Mother scoffed, gathering the skirt of her gown and pacing the length of the room. “That doddering fool; couldn’t help a skinned knee. No, I’d rather not involve anyone in this matter but us.”

“This is crazy,” Andrius said, his face showing all the emotions of the stone wall behind him. “Father is dead. I’m sorry he’s dead but you’ve got to deal with it. Not concoct theories of treason to dull your pain.”

“Andri, take it easy,” Paloma said, reaching a hand out to touch mother’s arm.

“Let’s try and discuss this calmly,” Martin said. “Is there anything that makes you think what caused his death wasn’t natural?”

Mother seemed to deflate. “Nothing that will convince you. But I know in my heart he was murdered.”

 

Try as he might, Martin couldn’t stop thinking about what mother had said. He sat in his chambers, head lolling against the carved headboard of the four-poster bed and thought about the night father died. Over and over. His bearing was less than regal but so deep was he in thought that when Daniel swaggered in, Martin didn’t sit up or make any attempt to correct his pose.

Soon enough his eyes were drawn to Daniel where he sat, loose-limbed at the desk, breaking the seal on a roll of parchment. Martin sat up, straightened his back and squared his shoulders. “News from Endmark?” 

“From my brother.” His short side-swept hair was a darker brown due to dampness and his shirt-strings were loosely tied at the top. Fresh from the baths, it seemed. He half-turned in his chair. “Nothing important.”

“How’d you come to be fostered with a healer?” If Martin’s father was murdered, perhaps Daniel’s knowledge would be of some use.

Perhaps the question could have used a little more tact, if Daniel’s pinched expression was anything to go by. “I don’t know. To my father, I was about as useful as nipples on a breastplate and he dealt with me accordingly, when he dealt with me at all.”

At a loss for anything to say to that as Martin had always strived to be the best, the achieve the most, he stayed silent. Steering the conversation toward Daniel either revealing suspicions about father’s death or proclaiming nothing out of the ordinary would never work. His only course of action would be to violate mother’s wishes and mention it outright. “I’ve been thinking about my father,” he said, watching Daniel’s fair face carefully. “About how quickly he died. Mother thinks he was murdered.” 

“I agree.”

Martin flinched. Despite his own doubts, he’d not expected that. He stood from the bed. “Why didn’t you say anything? How is this possible?”

“I thought the healer would bring up the issue, when he didn’t...” He paused, brought up his hands. “I’m not a healer.”

“No, but you spent half your life around one, yes?”

Daniel nodded, and his perfect row of pearly teeth sank into his bottom lip. “Yes.”

“Why?” Martin enunciated, swallowed and continued in a quieter voice. “What makes my father’s death look suspicious?” He cast his gaze around, finding Daniel’s bare feet for a moment before moving up his body and to his face. 

“He was in his prime. When people as healthy as your father was fall ill, they rarely die. The times they do it takes days, even weeks.” His soft tone and softer accent did nothing to dispel the discomfort taking hold in Martin’s stomach. “I’m sorry, but your mother’s right. Your father was murdered.”

A traitor in their midst. Inconceivable. “How? Poison?”

“I don’t think so. Poison, when ingested, usually has horrific consequences on the stomach. Your father’s bane was respiratory sickness. His high body temperature, however, could indicate poison of some kind. It suggest an outside source. Maybe it was something he inhaled.”

The more he thought about it, the less it made sense to Martin. Why would anyone want to kill his father? He was a worthy King, whose love for Sylvakia and its people was unrivaled. “You’re sure he couldn’t have died of natural causes?”

“Like you said, I fostered with a healer for ten years. Natural illness won’t have an otherwise healthy person at death’s door in a matter of hours.”

“So he was betrayed. Who would do that?”

Daniel’s chin rested on top of his hand at the back of his chair. “You’d know better than I. Someone with something to gain from his death. What happens now that he’s gone? Who gains something?”

The mattress dipped under Martin’s weight on the edge of it. “I could. Or Andrius. But father hadn’t made either of us crown prince. It makes no sense to kill him before then.”

“Unless he knew he was losing.”

Martin’s gaze snapped to Daniel’s. “No. Andrius didn’t do this. He may be aggressive, even unfeeling sometimes, but he’s not a murderer. He’s my brother.”

In the ensuing silence, Martin could hear his guards conversing outside his door. It served as a reminder to keep this development under concealment. Anyone could be the traitor. “Maybe father not having chosen his heir could be a factor. Right now, no one sit the thrown. No, not no one. My mother is queen regent but she knows nothing of ruling, beyond what happens in council.”

“Who could stand to gain from the situation?”

A sigh wound its way out of Martin. “I don’t know.” He didn’t even know where to start. “Maybe... Maybe you could help me. I wouldn’t know where to start looking for the kind of poison, if any, would kill a person like this.”

“Of course I’ll help you look into it.”

 

The guards were mother’s idea of increased security but without knowing who had killed father, it was a flawed idea. Telling them to stay and detouring to the temple seemed enough to rid the boys of them. Once they reached the Palace library, they were alone aside from the Master of Books.

“Good afternoon, your grace,” he said with a slight bow of deference. “And your grace.” The latter directed at Daniel. “What brings you fine young gentlemen to a room of musty old books on such a beautiful day?”

“There’s never a bad day for a bit of reading, is there?” 

The Master of Books smiled. “Of course not, your grace. What, may I inquire, arouses your interest at the moment?”

“Oh, too many things,” Martin said. “Permit us to look around and peak at things of interest, won’t you?”

“Of course. Of course.” He bowed again. “I shall continue cataloguing then if you should need me.”

As the master returned to his desk, Martin made for the nearest bookcase, a mahogany monstrosity –- one of many in the room –- nearly reaching the ceiling. He could feel Daniel right beside him and glanced his way. 

Slick, pink lips tilted upward. “That was quite smooth.” Voice barely above a whisper and their heads but a few inches apart. 

Warmth flowed through his limbs. He had to will himself to concentrate. Finding this information was much more important than his growing attraction to his own husband. There would be plenty of time to explore that later. “Where should we start?”

“We need to get to the healers’ section.”

Martin cast a covert look around. It was three rows down. The master sat at his desk and wrote in his catalogue and Martin didn’t linger. They quickly picked the tome they needed out of the shelf and made for the reading table nearest them.

While Martin read, Daniel shielded him from the master’s view and kept watch for anyone else that might enter.

Nightsbane, Malixir, Gorrand’s phial. There were dozens of poisons, but none that fit his father’s symptoms. Martin’s fists closed, trim fingernails biting into his palms. They’d wasted a third of the day on this pointless endeavor. “There is no poison known to man that could be inhaled and not lose its potency.” 

“What if it wasn’t poison? What if it was a potion?”

“Magic?” Martin regarded Daniel with sharp focus. “That section is restricted.” He let his eyes wander to the corner where a velvet rope separated it from the areas of the library that were open to everyone. He inclined his head to indicate it and got up. He snuck in over the line and stopped right in front of the binders marked with potions on the spine. 

Daniel was still on the lookout. He leant forward and peered toward the Master of Books, then nodded his affirmation that the wise old man hadn’t moved. He stepped closer, and for a moment Martin let himself be moved by the scent of him. So close his chest was nearly in contact with Martin’s back.

He drew in a lungful and reached for one of the books marked potion. A piece of paper tumbled out. Martin’s breath caught in his throat but a moment’s silence told him no one else heard. He plucked the paper from the floor. It was a document regarding ownership of the Flatlands. He stuffed it under his shirt.

The aptly named Extinguish fit the bill. As he read through the ingredients and symptoms they produced his heart pumped steadily in his chest. They’d found it. He turned to tell Daniel that, only to be pushed back against the shelves. “Wha--”  
“Someone’s coming.” And Martin could hear footsteps approaching. Then Daniel’s lips were on his. 

Whether by instinct or desire, Martin melted into him, hands coming up to Daniel’s waist and every part of them was pressed together. Eyes shut and lips pressing back against Daniel’s. He breathed through his nose and kissed him again. 

Throat clearing. The library master stood watching them from the end of the aisle, hands clasped behind his back. “I beg your pardon, your grace, but perhaps such activities would be better suited to a more private venue.”

Martin’s lips tasting of Daniel and a tight warmth in his chest, he acknowledged the master with a curt nod and dashed out of there as quick as he gracefully could.

They were almost at their quarters, where Martin thought they’d either do more kissing or awkwardly try to explain the tension away, when Illian caught them. 

“I’ve been looking for you,” he said. “Everyone is gathered in the Great Hall. Your mother is going to make an announcement.”

The swell of anticipation in his gut didn’t ebb upon hearing that. He followed into the Great Hall, ever aware of Daniel just a step or two behind him, but paying it no mind for the moment.

Mother called him to her. Andrius stood on one side of her, head held high and Martin took his place on the other side of her. In the small crowd were only palace staff, servants and guards. No common folk not party to the workings of the royal household. If this was the announcement Martin thought it was, the crowning ceremony would come later.

“Since news of my husband’s death has reached the people of Sylvakia, it’s time I choose his heir to the throne,” she said. “Both my boys would make worthy successors but unfortunately only one can be chosen. So it is with mixed feelings, but great pride nonetheless that I declare that Martin shall be your next King.”

The tense little feeling in Martin’s stomach seemed to rush everywhere at once. He couldn’t contain his smile as he bowed in gratitude. Mother’s arms encircled him briefly. Then Paloma’s. 

He looked up to see Andrius regarding him with a grimace and dull eyes. But to his credit, he extended his hand and a terse congratulations.

Martin’s gaze found Daniel in the middle of the group below. This time they shared a smile.


	5. Chapter Five

After the announcement, it seemed to Daniel that Martin was riding on a wave of euphoria. As far as he could tell, Martin and Andrius had been locked in this bitter competition since birth and Daniel wasn’t about to begrudge him his happiness for having finally won his birthright. But Daniel had never cared much for kings or politics.

The Queen arranged a late supper for the family in the dining hall. She and Illian had monopolized Martin for far too long and when Paloma came by to accompany him to the dinner, Daniel was glad for the distraction.

Thea and Andrius were a few paces ahead of them, arm in arm, though it looked more for show than real contact.

While Sebastian moseyed on between them, holding his mother’s hand, Paloma spoke: “It might sound strange to you, especially considering his behavior toward you, but I feel sorry for Andrius.”

“I do too,” Daniel said, surprising himself. “I didn’t know your father, but there must have been a better way of choosing his heir than pitting your brothers against each other.”

Paloma’s somber smile was just like her mother’s. “He tried to be fair, I think.”

When they reached the dining hall, it didn’t escape Daniel’s notice that Andrius sat as far from Martin as possible. Daniel took the empty seat to Martin’s left and Paloma to Daniel’s left.

The servants brought forth the first course, and the cook’s assistant lingering uncomfortably long at Martin’s shoulder. They didn’t speak but exchanged looks. Daniel might have seen more if he’d had a more convenient angle. He couldn’t get a good look at him until he finally placed Daniel’s plate in front of him with far less pomp than Martin had received.

He wasn’t pretty. Daniel’s shifted in his seat. He was being ungenerous. But the man just made it so obvious he wanted Martin and it was difficult to just sit and smile while someone undressed his husband with his eyes.

They ate under the Queen’s constant instruction for Martin. Guidance he undoubtedly needed so early in his reign but it put a stop to anyone else talking to him.

The meal wrapped up and still the Queen and Illian guided Martin.

“Come with me to the council chambers. We must begin preparing for your crowning,” she said.

Daniel mustered a weak smile and made to stand, but Martin grasped his wrist under the table. His attention still fixed on his mother and Illian at the end of the table, he thrust a crumpled piece of paper into his palm.

Excusing himself, Daniel left, the sheet clutched tight in his fist.

He didn’t wait until he was back in their quarters. Finding himself alone in the corridor, he unfolded the scrap and read it.

_Regarding ownership of the region known as the Flatlands, the Batavians have left it unguarded and we have taken it for our own.  
                                                                                                                                              - Cassius Škrtel. 1224._

And on the back in elegant cursive: _Research this for me?_

The implications were immense. Even if the Sylvakians had taken the Flatlands by force 80 years ago, if they’d never actually been seceded to them, they were still legally the property of the Batavian Empire.

Daniel sighed. He had a long night ahead of him.

 

The sun had long since set when Daniel finally made it out of the library. He’d gone over records, history books, anything that could have even a remote chance of mentioning the Batavians seceding the Flatlands, but he found nothing. Still, he’d not given up. He simply needed some sleep.

A lamp was lit in the temple. Daniel raised an eyebrow. That was odd. He edged closer but saw nothing and no one. Not a soul in sight, not even the source of the light. He walked further in and there it was. The Vision. Not abandoned as it should have been. The Queen in nothing but nightclothes getting ready to submerge herself in the unnaturally blue water.

Daniel hurried back out quietly.

They were still using the Vision? Did someone else know? Did Martin?

When he got to the room, Martin was asleep. Daniel blinked, dazed. His head was still working out the details. There was no way no one knew. The King must have known. Maybe Martin did too. Tomorrow, Daniel would find out for certain.

 

Roused by a cacophony of sounds, Daniel resisted the pull of daylight.

“Come now, your grace. It’s well after lunch and we can’t wait for the move much longer.” A female voice said.

Daniel turned his head away, half-mashed as it was into his pillow. Martin’s side of the bed was cold. “What move?” he managed to say, voice rough from disuse.

“The moving of your chambers. I’ll leave you to get dressed now, but if you’re not out of bed and into clothes when I return I won’t hesitate to stand over you while you dress, your grace.”

Daniel opened his eyes and turned back to see her. The middle-aged woman standing over him wore the dress of a chambermaid. “Hurry now,” she said and left.

What a rude awakening. He’d had no idea they were moving and to have a stranger come in and rush him out of bed was far from his idea of a good morning. Still, he crawled out of bed, a headache steadily building behind his eyes.

Once he was dressed, he was careful to keep the scrap of paper that had been the incentive of his late night on his person.

As promised the chambermaid returned with several other servants. She grabbed the sheets off the bed, while the others had their reckless hands on other of their personal items.

“Why don’t you go have yourself a late lunch, your grace? This won’t take a moment, but it’s best you keep out of the way. Midday you’ll be free to make use of your new quarters.”

Loathe as he was to look like a privileged idiot who had everything done for him as few things were further from the truth, Daniel stepped closer to her. “I have no idea where they are.”

The woman’s shoulder slumped so far with her harsh exhale, the bedding in her hands brushed against the floor. “I’ll have someone fetch you when it’s time. Now go on.”

In the kitchen, the cook ate while his assistant cleaned up after lunch. “Can I help you?” The assistant said, scarcely looking up from the tub of grimy water the dishes were soaking in.

It was hardly a warm welcome. “I was wondering if there was any chance I might get an apple?”

He sighed and tossed the rag he’d been using none too gently over the side of the tub. “Just the one, yes?” He said and disappeared behind the food stores. And flung the apple at him with no regard to whether Daniel would catch it or not.

Daniel fumbled the catch and nearly dropped the apple. Despite himself, he thanked the assistant.

Paloma caught him on the way out. “That’s not exactly a hearty lunch. No wonder you’re so slim.”

Daniel worked on swallowing before speaking. “Not lunch. Breakfast. Late night.”

Her nose scrunched up. “Spare me the details.”

Daniel grinned but shook his head. “Please. I’ve barely seen him since your mother announced she’d be making him king.”

Paloma smiled back. “And that bothers you. I thought this marriage of convenience was against your will.”

“It was. But why look a gift horse in the mouth?”

“I don’t know that I’d call Martin a gift, but I’m glad you’re coming around to the idea.”

He thought of mentioning the Queen and the Vision but Paloma had only just moved back here shortly before Daniel did. If anyone knew about it, it would be Martin.

 

Out the window in the new chambers, Daniel could see the south tower of the palace. Manned by archers and spotters, they’d be the first to know of an invasion. It seemed appropriate to put the King here.

The room had been dusted and all their personal property put away. The chambermaid worked to put sheets on their new bed. It was large enough to comfortably fit four people in it and without the four posters it looked less claustrophobic. They could sleep in that bed for decades and never touch.

Daniel looked up when the door opened. Martin came trudging in, his face colorless. His mother and Illian had been running him ragged. “I’m sorry I didn’t tell you of the move,” he said as if the chambermaid fussing over the bedding wasn’t even there. “I didn’t want to wake you this morning.”

With a nod of acknowledgement Daniel said nothing.

Martin’s brow wrinkled but the maid’s presence seemed to register then and while she finished they kept quiet, half the room separating them.

When she left, silence still reigned for countless moments. Finally, Martin sat on the bed and after a deep breath lied down on his back, closing his eyes. “I can’t remember the last time I was this tired,” he said.

Daniel bit his lip.

“It should unwind a bit after the crowning ceremony, barring war.” He sat back up. “When you weren’t in bed last night when I returned to our chambers, I figured you’d got my note. Did you find anything out?”

“Not yet.” But once he’d opened his mouth it all came tumbling out. “There was a light on in the temple last night.”

Martin pursed his lips. “Oh?”

“How long has your mother been in violation of the Judgment’s law?”

Eyes squeezing shut, Martin shook his head, hands going limp in his lap. “It’s not a big deal.”

“It is.” The muscles in his shoulders tensed and he kept his tone carefully controlled. “It’s a very big deal. No one is above the law, no matter their title.”

Martin stood and approached Daniel. “It’s under control.” The sound of his voice was quiet and smooth. “She’s limiting her time in the Vision. But it’s important right now to get a feel for the future. We’re on the brink of war.”

“It’s dangerous.”

Still Martin came closer, close enough that the scent of him surrounded Daniel. “It’s under control,” he repeated, still in that soft tone. “No one knows. Just Illian and I.” He watched his own hand reach out and gently take hold of Daniel’s wrist. “You don’t have to worry.”

Daniel breathed in deeply. And then Martin’s mouth was on his. Plump lips between his, warm tongue licking its way inside. Daniel’s mouth parted, a spark of arousal shooting low in his gut.

The back of his thighs hit the sturdy wooden desk. Martin’s clothed chest under Daniel’s fingers but he wanted, needed to touch skin. He un-tucked Martin’s shirt with a tug and slid his palms up the smooth plane of his stomach.

A barely audible sigh breathed against Daniel’s lips, Martin’s fingers working furiously to untie the top of Daniel’s shirt. Once loosened, he made quick work of pulling it up and off. With the next crash of Martin’s mouth on his, Daniel was half on top of the desk, Martin’s fingers branding the skin of his hips.

Heat spread over his chest and cheeks and Martin’s mouth latched onto his warm neck. Daniel’s head tilted back and he bit his lip to keep from moaning.

“And here I was thinking you’d never consummate,” came a voice from somewhere behind Martin.

Daniel’s eyes flew back open and Martin stumbled back.

Near the door, Andrius stood smiling like a shark.

“Get out,” Martin said weakly, his full lips slick and swollen. His breathing was a little uneven and his face was flushed. Fuck Andrius for interrupting. Hot lust still burned in Daniel’s gut and he could only just right himself where he sat atop the desk.

“I’m afraid I can’t do that,” Andrius said, sounding anything but apologetic. “The messenger just arrived with news. Kharo’s at war with Taria.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I don't know why the end note for chapter one suddenly disappeared from there and appeared here or why the signed name after the note Daniel reads no longer appears on the right side of the screen but I've given up trying to fix it. Apologies for being html-challenged.


	6. Chapter Six

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm very sorry for the lack of updates recently. That first week after the last update, I couldn't carve out any free time due to work and other issues, then when I finally did get the weekend off it was hard to get back into the right head space to write, but I think I've found my groove again. Hopefully, I can keep it up. No full 7 days a week of work ahead. :)
> 
> I apologize for this chapter being short, but at least it's an update.

The council meeting went on and on and Martin tried his best but Illian and the Commander argued in circles, Andrius stayed conspicuously silent and mother drank too much wine to be of much use to anyone. 

Kharo’s army had attacked Taria’s but that was the extent of what they knew thus far. Martin needed more information, not just on what was happening in Batavia but on what the situation with the Flatlands 80 years ago meant. Daniel hadn’t been able to find any record of the Empire seceding the Flatlands. That could mean trouble down the line. If it was never theirs fighting for it with the blood of his people was hardly worth it, was it? And yet, there was the matter of the crops. 

He simply didn’t know what to do. He wished for his father’s advice but he’d never have it again. 

They still hadn’t found his father's killer, either. His first few days of rule were less than exemplary. Perhaps mother had made the wrong choice. 

“What you’re saying is either we do nothing, which so far hasn’t worked to minimize the potential threat or we ride to war without a threat made to us, making us the aggressors?” He stifled a sigh. It felt like he’d had this exact meeting a hundred times in the last month or two. “Neither appeals to me.”

“Then what would you have us do?” The Commander of the guard said. 

“I don’t know. This council is meant to advice me on what to do, but you’ve been arguing about this decision for weeks.”

The Commander of the guard stood. “That is what the council does, your highness. We present you with the facts and with our opinion, our suggestion. The hard decisions, those are yours to make. After all, you are the King. The Kingdom rests on your shoulders.”

Not that Martin needed to be reminded. It felt like his loyalties were to Sylvakia first, second and third and the rest of it, like sleeping, he squeezed in somewhere in between. “I don’t think it’s too much to ask for a little cohesion. Council dismissed.”

On the way out, Illian walked beside Martin, the guards a few paces ahead and behind them. “Regarding the crowning ceremony,” he said. “It would be best if Prince Agger is publicly seen out of town, preferably on some errand, on the day of your crowning.”

“Why?”

“This marriage while perfectly legal and binding, is not something to showcase. Prince Agger cannot be seen beside you during your crowning, but it’s also not a good idea for him to conspicuously absent. Were he to be occupied with some official errand it would look much better for everyone.”

Martin furrowed his brow, slowing his walk as they were nearing his chambers. “I don’t understand. Why can’t he be beside me as every queen has been to her king?”

“Because he’s not a queen,” Illian said matter-of-factly. “Everyone knows queens have no real power. They sometimes sit on the council, but few have interest in that. But Agger is a man and a foreign one at that. The people of Sylvakia must not feel his influence on any of your decisions. He can’t sit on the council either.”

At the door to his quarters, Martin stopped, still confused. “I still don’t understand. I won’t put him on the council if it’s not allowed, but why send him away?”

“Although royalty have been permitted to marry members of the same sex for decades now, it’s never been done. And the council, you’ll be glad to know, unanimously agreed that the best way to avoid the appearance of the prince having any influence over you or the people of Sylvakia is to never have him publicly appear beside you. You’re the King, he’s still a prince.”

But Martin wasn’t glad to know. The restrictions made sense in a way, but Daniel had been a tremendous help to Martin. He was one of the few people Martin felt he could absolutely trust and it was unfair to shove him aside when it came to public appearances.

Illian reached up and clasped his shoulder. “Find a mission to send him on and everything will be fine.”

Weariness weighed on Martin and he nodded as Illian left. The guards silently took their places outside the door, joining the single guard attached to Daniel’s protection. He shut the door behind him and slumped back against it. 

 

Three days passed before Martin mentioned the restrictions to Daniel. 

Daniel stood just inside the door to their quarters. His lips flattened and his face clouded. “I’m to be sent away?”

Martin winced. That made it sound worse than it really was. “Not exactly.”

“Yes exactly,” Daniel said, the volume of his voice rising. “If you’re saying I’m not to be beside you, but I’m to be seen somewhere else, you are sending me away.”

Keeping a distance –- made easy by Daniel’s steps further into the room –- Martin wished he’d worded his request better. “You’ll be back once it’s over.”

Daniel huffed. “That’s not the issue. One doesn’t negate the other.”

Downcast eyes weren’t conducive to making contact so Martin let his gaze wander over the ceiling instead. “You’re taking this worse than I expected.”

“How am I supposed to take it?” Daniel said, bathing his arms out to his sides. “I don’t know why I thought I’d be less of an inconvenience for you than I was for my father.”

When Daniel tried to walk past him, Martin grasped his arm gently. “I’m not sending you away for ten years. I’m asking you to be reasonable.” 

Daniel’s eyes were narrowed slits and he jerked his arm free. “I don’t think you’re being reasonable. Why should I?”

“Why are you arguing against this? You don’t even want to be there.”

“Don’t tell me what I want.”

Martin flapped his arms. “If you’ve got no interest in politics, why would you want to be there?”

“How about I’m married to you? How’s that? Or that I think this sets a bad precedent? How about I just don’t want to be showcased somewhere irrelevant just so people don’t mistakenly think I have any say in anything ever.” He stormed out and slammed the door.

After he took a moment to collect himself, Martin exited the chambers as well. One of his guards eyed him with a thinly veiled smirk. If they’d heard that, what else could they have heard somewhere, anywhere in the palace? 

 

When Martin returned to their quarters later that night, Daniel still wasn’t back.


	7. Chapter Seven

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Another short chapter, mainly due to the last scene not at all going they way I thought it would.

Daniel’s guard never followed him into the palace temple. The high arches and plentiful light in daytime were conducive to thought and Daniel found himself there often. 

Alone and for once not quite liking it, Daniel sat on the carved stone pews and wondered if he’d overreacted to Martin’s request. 

There was some sort of commotion outside, voices hushed but rising, but Daniel paid it no mind. Everything in the Silverstone Palace seemed to revolve around the brewing war between Sylvakia and the Batavian Empire these days. As had become quite clear, Daniel was to have no official part in that, despite the political alliance between his kingdom and Martin’s.

The voices silenced and a moment later, Thea came stalking into the temple, face pink either with exertion or rage or perhaps even both. Spotting Daniel, her walk slowed and her feet no longer pounded on the marble floor. 

“Good evening,” she greeted, wrapping her arms around her midriff. 

“Good evening,” Daniel said, now doubting his decision not to inspect the ruckus outside the temple. As far as he knew, Thea was no more an official part of the war proceedings than he was. Or unofficial for that matter. He was suspicious over nothing, he told himself. Perhaps this was just a night for (budding) lovers’ spats.

“Do you come here to pray?” She asked, gingerly sitting on a pew further from Daniel. “I was given to understand you weren’t pious.”

“I’m not. Not really. I come here to think.”

“I’ll leave you to it then.” Before he could protest were he so inclined, she’d exited as quickly as she’d entered.

It was strange. She’d stomped in there as if she were on a mission and left just a moment later. Maybe she knew about the Vision. Maybe she used it too. Or maybe she’d simply been escaping the argument she’d been having with an as yet unidentified man. 

 

On his way back to his chambers, Daniel was cornered by Andrius. The skin around his eyes was reddened and he couldn’t stand still. 

“It’s not certain Martin was the one born first,” he said and the sharp smile he aimed at Daniel looked more like a grimace. “At first mother said she didn’t know, but as kids we kept asking and then she said Martin.”

Daniel felt like this conversation wasn’t starting here, but for once Andrius wasn’t threatening or bullying him. “Maybe she said she didn’t know so you wouldn’t fight over it.”

Andrius blew out an audible breath. “Father said he didn’t know either.”

“Does it make a difference now?” There was only so much of this Daniel could take. The heir situation had been strange before, but rehashing it was bound to bring the same results. 

“I suppose not.” He frowned and seemed for the first time to realize who he was talking to. “Forget we had this conversation.” Then he rushed off.

Still a little taken aback, Daniel finally got back to the quarters he shared with Martin. It felt like the middle of the night, but the day probably hadn’t made way for a new one yet. Martin was awake and sat up in bed the moment the door shut behind Daniel. 

“I’m glad you’re back,” he said.

Daniel busied himself with undressing for bed. “Where else would I go?” 

“I’m sorry,” Martin said. “About before. I have to do right by my people, but this isn’t the kind of marriage I want.”

As if either of them had a choice in that in the first place. Daniel sat to untie his shoes. “What kind is that?”

The bed jostled and dipped as Martin moved closer. “The kind where I make all the decisions.” His warm palm brushed the back of Daniel’s bare shoulder. “I don’t want to be your ruler.”

Daniel drew in a breath to keep from leaning into Martin’s touch. “Then don’t be.”

The pads of his fingers moved lower and Daniel struggled to keep his breathing even. “I know,” Martin said. “I’m not sending you on some unofficial/official business for the crowning ceremony. You can choose to be there or choose not to.” He moved closer still, leaning around Daniel to see his face. “Considering what I know of your relationship with your father, I don’t want to be likened to him again.”

Daniel smiled. “That may have been somewhat unfair of me.” Their eyes met. Martin’s hand moved to his cheek and he drifted closer and closer until they were kissing.

It was just a brush of their lips but once more, that hot spark of arousal shot through Daniel’s gut. He opened his mouth to Martin’s insistent pressing. 

Within moments, Martin had him on his back, warm hands roaming his body and his lips on any strip of skin he could find but always finding their way back to Daniel’s mouth. Had it only been this afternoon when they were interrupted? It felt like a lot longer. In fact, with the way Martin was touching him, it felt like no one had touched him at all before. 

Daniel’s fingers grazed Martin’s side and with a sharp intake of breath, Martin ground into Daniel, swallowing the soft sound Daniel made at the contact. 

The smallclothes were in the way. Martin’s mouth moved onto Daniel’s neck, hands deftly removing the pieces of cloth still separating them. Encircling him in a loose fist, Martin really seemed to know what he was doing. His face and his chest felt hot, and his fingers dug into Martin’s skin when he ground against him again. 

Martin raised himself up on one arm, bent his head to see his large hand wrapped around the both of them.

It took but a few more thrust for them to reach their climax.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> That last scene was not at all how I'd planned it. :/


	8. Chapter Eight

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am so sorry I've been MIA for so long. Life got busy and then it was really hard to get back into writing. Anyway, if anyone still follows this, warnings are as follows:
> 
> \- harm done to a child.  
> \- mentions of blood.

Paloma ran after Sebastian down the long corridor, her feet clacking on the marble floor with each step. Sebastian rounded the corner and as Paloma caught up with him, he ran right into Daniel’s legs. 

Daniel caught him and scooped him up. “Hey there, where are you running off to?”

He shrugged. “How come you talk funny?”

“Sebastian!” Paloma chided. Oh, the things children said!

But Daniel laughed. “You know how you and your mother are from a kingdom called Sylvakia?” When Sebastian nodded, Daniel went on. “I’m not. I’m from a kingdom called Endmark.”

“Why is it called Endmark?”

“It’s mostly plains and a long time ago, people used to think it was at the end of the world.”

“It’s not?”

Daniel inclined his head. “Depends where you start, I suppose.”

“I apologize for him,” Paloma said, taking her son from Daniel’s arms. “I had planned for a walk around the Gardens, but he took off before I could so much as get footwear on him. What are your plans this morning?”

“No plans. Martin’s preparing for his coronation, so my day is free.”

Paloma thought twice, but in the end, she could do with an adult for company. “Would you like to join us?”

 

They were well into their walk –- the guards so far behind them to be neither of use nor nuisance –- when either of them spoke. 

“Martin’s coronation ceremony tonight,” she said. “I hear Illian has finally relented. You’ll be there?”

The sound Daniel made is not quite a chuckle. “I regret having made such a fuss about it.”

Paloma felt her brow furrow. “Why?”

“Because Martin was right.” His soft exhale brought her eyes to him. “I don’t want to be there.”

Before she could reply, Sebastian tugged at both their hands. “Mama, my feet are tired.” If he hadn’t spent half the morning running from her, their walk wouldn’t be cut short now. She sighed to herself, resigned that her quiet morning in the autumn chill was over.

But Daniel crouched down in front of Sebastian, taking him on his shoulders.  
Why she was still surprised by his care for her son, she didn’t know. Sebastian’s father had not paid much mind to his own son, she supposed she unconsciously expected no man to either.

“It’s a shame you won’t have children yourself,” she found herself saying, quite unbidden. 

He shrugged, seeming not to care in the least that Sebastian’s fingers were tangled tight in his hair, grinning from his view up on Daniel’s shoulders. “It’s not so bad. I should say at this point in my life, at least. Of my life’s regrets it’s not near the top of the list.”

Paloma bit her lip and thought. “But you are young still. Barely 20 yet.”

His smile was crooked and she tried not to notice how attractive it made him. “Thus the qualifier ‘at this point in my life’.”

She was not much older than him. Not yet 23, but already she had a child and a husband who abandoned them. She regretted a few things in her life as well, but not her son. Never her son. “I suppose if it weren’t for my gaining Sebastian out of it, I would regret agreeing to the match my father proposed for me.” When Daniel nodded, the thought occurred to her that she’d been much more open with Daniel, than even her brothers. Martin was too busy for much of anything, and Andrius has always been harder to talk to than anyone in her family. “What do you regret?”

He gave her an expression that seemed to imply she was being scandalous, making her laugh, though she admitted to herself that the question was very intimate. “I regret that I don’t know my brothers very well. My father sent me to foster when I was still a child and I only returned to court last winter.”

“That is sad,” she agreed. She remembered growing up with her brothers; Martin the overachiever and Andrius louder, more boisterous but the three of them had been strong together. Before the relationship between Martin and Andri has soured; before she’d been the odd one out because she had softer sensibilities. “I could not have imagined my childhood without my brothers.”

“I have some fond memories of mine, but things change quickly and ten years is a long time. The bonds siblings form growing up are largely absent. They send me news, sometimes, though. So it is not as if I will never know them.”

“It’s not unusual for children to be sent to foster, but I’ve never heard a highborn child fostered away.”

“It’s practically unheard of. And with a commoner as well. If I gained anything by it, besides a resentment for my father, I’d think it was empathy. That’s not such a bad quality.”

Of course it wasn’t. It was a rare enough occurrence in her experience. “It’s strange; resentment,” she said. “My father tried to be fair, I think, in pitting the boys against each other, not just to them but to our people as well, but it was never him they resented, but each other.”

Daniel adjusted Sebastian food in his grip. “And your mother?”

Mother who barely emerged from the bottom of a win bottle anymore. Still Paloma found the strength to smile. “Mother always loved Martin best.”

Daniel’s lips stretched into a grin. He nudged her awkwardly with an elbow. “And you? Who do you love best? Aside from Sebastian, of course.”

And in that moment, Paloma realized she could be so attracted to this man, to her brother’s husband, if she would let herself. Her mother’s warnings about spending time with him might have been for the sake of her image, but perhaps she’d foreseen this as well. She composed herself and hoped she hadn’t been silent for too long. “Andri was always harder to get along with than Martin, but I love my brothers equally.”

As if some sort of omen a drop of rain hit her head, then another and another until it was raining heavily. 

“Oh, boy,” Daniel said, peering into the sky. “I hope this doesn’t bode ill for the crowning.”

Though she’d had a similar thought, she gave him a teasing look. “You are superstition, aren’t you?” With a smile, she quickened her pace. “Come, before we’re all soaked through.”

Daniel jogged alongside her with Sebastian steady on his shoulders.

 

After her uncomfortable realization, Paloma avoided Daniel as best she could, though she needn’t have. When Martin recited his oath and received his crown, the look Daniel shared with him was nothing like the shallow feelings she’d kept herself from dwelling on. They were friends, as they well should be. Both sort of abandoned in their own ways, it was no surprise they’d found a kinship in each other. She loved her son above all else, perhaps Daniel’s kindness and playfulness with him had simply touched her deeper than she had thought it would. Sebastian could do with a good male influence. The Allfather knew he’d had little of it so far in his short life.

The ceremony went off without a hitch and though Illian looked ill at ease with Daniel by Martin’s side, even that didn’t seem to put a damper on the look of absolutely pride he beamed with once Martin was crowned the next King of Sylvakia. 

After the big speeches, the people’s cheers and jeers, and Martin’s first address to his subjects, a more private celebration was held in Martin’s honor. Their family, Illian and a few select guards.

Mother looked halfway sober for once, though not as composed as she usually was. Andrius and Thea seemed intent to keep to themselves and Sebastian yawned and yawned until after supper when he took to running around the room, sometimes in circles around the big dining table. 

She looked up when he yelped, expecting to find he’d slipped and fallen or perhaps run into something. A gasp escaped her and she’d stood up before she'd realized it.

One of the guards had him grasped tight, a blade to her little boy’s throat!  
She was only vaguely aware that others had stood as well. Her eyes were fixed on the assailant’s hand and her son’s silent tears. 

“Let the boy go,” Martin said, his voice calmer than hers had any hope of being. “He’s only a child.”

“You’d be a king with no heirs. With no hope of ever having legitimate heirs.”

Her hands shook. Blurred as her eyes were she somehow caught the guard looking between Martin and her. The rotten bastard! To threaten a child like that.

Sebastian tears were silent no longer and her heart broke for the tenth time in as many breaths. 

“Let him--” but Martin got no further when the blade slid across delicate skin and Paloma’s shriek of terror nearly drowned out all the commotion that followed. 

She stumbled forward, her whole body shaking now, sobs choked in her throat, but Daniel reached the boy before she did. Mother grabbed her, kept her from getting too close, allowing Martin access as well. 

The other guards were apprehending the villain, but she could only see the pool of blood staining the floor, and Daniel kneeling in it, the palm of his hand spread over Sebastian open throat, straining, whispering. Groaning with effort. What was he doing? The gap was closing or maybe she was imagining it. Wishing it.

No, the gap was closing. Daniel seemed to shake violently with his effort but whatever magic he had in his hands were working! Sebastian’s wound was getting smaller, the blood no longer pooling, barely even trickling out the ever-shrinking cut. 

Her grief-addled mind couldn’t make sense of it for a long while. There was a stunned hush over the room and finally she realized it really was magic. Daniel was healing him. Not like the Healers with herbs and medicine, but with whatever force he had within him. 

Finally, her beautiful son let out an ear piercing cry of terror. She’s never heard anything more terrifying or beautiful. Her mother let go of her and Paloma swept her son into her arms, crying with him, his throat working, his wound gone. She still couldn’t quite process it all, only the little body in her arms, so scared but alive. Alive. 

Daniel collapsed and Martin looked torn between some great emotions when he too knelt down and gingerly helped Daniel to his feet.

She couldn’t even thank him, she couldn’t do much more than clutch her son close and cry.


	9. Chapter Nine

Martin was still reeling. Fiercely glad his nephew wasn’t hurt, bewildered at what Daniel had done to save him, but angry he’d kept it from Martin. He’d ordered the commander of his guard to question the assailant, but he needed time to gather his wits about him.

Daniel’s pale skin looked paler still, and as soon as they were in the privacy of their chambers, he all but collapsed on the bed.

The maelstrom swirling inside Martin found no outlet. “Were you ever going to tell me you could do that?”

Daniel sighed. “Do we have to do this now?”

“You lied to me.”

It seemed to take effort for Daniel to sit up. “I didn’t lie,” he said. “Magic is outlawed and with good reason.”

“Good reason? You believe gifts like yours should be kept hidden? Unused?” Martin loosened his shirt collar and swept his arm out. “You saved Sebastian, where traditional medicine would have failed.”

“It’s not about what I believe.” He crossed his arms over his chest, angling his body away from Martin. “The Judgment outlawed magic, whether I believe in it or not. I could be in serious trouble.”

“Who do you think is going to turn you in? Me? Paloma? Mother?” His voice rose with each suggestion. 

“You were not the only ones there!”

“The Palace guards took an oath to protect us!”

“Look how well that turned out!”

Martin recoiled as if he’d been slapped. 

Daniel exhaled and ran his hand through his hair. “Can we please talk about this later? It’s been a long day, we’re both emotional and I’m exhausted.”

Reluctantly, Martin shook his head. “I can’t. I need this out now.” He crossed his arms, could feel the warm flush of anger still spreading over his skin. “How could you not trust me? I trusted you with everything. With my sister, my nephew, sensitive information about the Flatlands, my father’s death and the war. There was nothing I knew that you didn’t.”

“When exactly was I supposed to tell you this? When you’re father lay dying? When I was up half the night researching historical records? During your many and frequent council meetings?”

Martin huffed. “Don’t turn this around on me. Why not when my father was dying? Did you try to save him this way?”

“I shouldn’t even have done it now.”

Bile rose to Martin’s throat. “So not only did you not so much as try to save my father, but you regret saving a child.”  
“Don’t put words in my mouth! I don’t regret saving Sebastian, I couldn’t.”

Martin set his jaw, reading between the lines. “But you didn’t try to save my father.”

“It’s more complicated than you think. I need to see it to heal it. Maybe I could have saved your father! Maybe it would have killed me! Maybe it wouldn’t have saved him, and still could’ve killed me. You don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“I know that if you were any kind of Healer at all, there’s nothing you wouldn’t do to save a life.” Martin strode back out and slammed the door.

 

On his way to the dungeons where the commander had taken the assailant, he could hear raised voices coming from someone’s quarters down the corridor. It seemed he and Daniel weren’t the only ones having things out tonight.

The commander met him outside the dungeons with a grave expression on his sharp features. “I must express my apologies, your grace. I should’ve vetted everyone on my staff personally.”

Martin waved his excuses off. “Who is he? Why did he try to kill a little boy?”

The commander shook his head. “He won’t talk. Perhaps a night or two in the dungeons with the filth and the rats will change his mind.”

Illian frowned. “We should hand him over to the Judgment where he’ll be sentenced and proper justice can be served, your grace. If we do not follow the law to the letter--”

“--I’ll make a decision once I’ve spoken to him myself,” Martin said, doing his best to shake the last vestiges of his emotional cyclone he’d been swept up in this evening. 

But Martin couldn’t get him to talk either. It tempted Martin to leave him in the draft and grime of his windowless cell, but his first official act as King should not to be to unlawfully condemn a man, no matter what he’d done. Had Sebastian died, he might have gone through with it. But as it were, he turned to Illian. 

“Have a runner send for an agent of the Judgment,” he said. To the commander of his guard, he said: “I want everyone questioned. Palace staff, servants, guards. I don’t care if they’ve worked here two days or two decades.”

 

In the narrow stone staircase up from the dungeons, Martin was intercepted by a messenger. The parchment in his hand crinkled as he prepared to read it.

“Your grace, apologies for the intrusion, but we just received urgent news from the Batavian Empire,” he said. Martin was too tired for this. All the same, he nodded his ‘go ahead’. “The message reads: Kharo’s advance on the Capitol is a success. He’s seized the Batavian throne. Empress’s army suffered heavy losses, her fate unknown at the time of this message. Assumed dead.”

Martin stifled a sigh. “Deliver the message to Illian. The council will convene at first light.” 

One crises at a time. The traitor or traitors in their midst had to be dealt with first and his father’s murderer finally found and put to justice. Kharo would need time to organize and gather his forces anew. But the threat of war drew closer.

 

It was late when Martin returned to his quarters. 

Daniel was asleep on his back, arm slung over his stomach. A line of blood on his throat, trickling down to his chest. Martin lurched onto the bed, grabbed Daniel by the arm and shook him. “Daniel, wake up. What’s wrong? What happened?”

“What?” Daniel croaked.

“You’re bleeding.” He touches a finger to the sticky blood on Daniel’s neck.

“Transference. It’ll stop.” His voice sounded raw and wrecked and not entirely, Martin suspected, from sleep. 

Martin got off the bed again, marches for the door and called for his manservant. “Fetch warm water and a clean cloth.” He waited half out the door while the servant rushed off to do his bidding. Would this wretched night never come to an end? He needed a good night’s sleep to not only regain some energy but also to calm his frayed emotions. 

With a bowl of water and a washcloth in hand, he returned to the chambers and found that Daniel was drifting in and out of sleep. He wet the cloth and wringed the excess water out of it before brushing it over Daniel’s blood-smeared neck. 

“I’m sorry,” Daniel murmured. “Maybe I should’ve tried to save your father.”

Martin swallowed and shut his eyes. Daniel looked frail and sick, voice in tatters and unable to keep conscious for longer than a moment at a time. “No,” he said. “I shouldn’t have blamed you. I’m in over my head here.” 

Daniel’s eyes drifted shut again and Martin wiped the blood off until it stopped dripping, well into the night.


	10. Chapter Ten

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This one is short, it's more of a bridging part.

Daniel awoke alone after breakfast but still a while before lunch. Sluggish, he rose, his throat a little sore, but significantly better than during the night when Martin woke him. A hearty meal would go a long way to restoring his depleted energy, but he’d missed breakfast and lunch would not be served soon.

After he’d dressed, he wandered down to the kitchens anyway, hoping the cook would be in a good mood. But the cook was gone. Instead, the cook’s assistant -- the one who ogled Martin every time their paths crossed – was cleaning up after the staff’s breakfast. The tables were cluttered with bowls and utensils and the washing tub was practically overflowing.

“Excuse me,” Daniel said, stomach starting to cramp from hunger. It was not a new feeling, but it was one he hadn’t felt since he’d been fostered with Katsa. 

Hamlyn looked up, expression immediately shuttered once he saw who’d disturbed him. “What do you want?”

Drawing in a breath, Daniel walked closer. “I wonder if it’s possible that I could get a little something to eat?” He hated the pleading tone of his own voice, especially considering at whom it was directed.

The shuttered expression remained, but the bowl Hamlyn had in his hand slammed on the table with a thud. “This is not the first time you’ve slept through breakfast,” he said, heading toward the cooking hearth. “Come to me begging for scraps like a dog.”

With another deep breath, Daniel let the comment slide. He was too hungry to pass this up, but the lack of respect and deference in the assistant’s demeanor got under his skin. If Martin had been the one to ask, he’d have fallen all over himself to accommodate him.

Daniel took a seat at the one half-cleared table. Hamlyn’s eyebrows rose. Only the staff and servants ate in the kitchens, royalty and other highborn guests had all their meals in the dining room.

After placing a bowl of thick stew and a piece bread in front of Daniel, Hamlyn resumed clearing the tables. 

The meal half-finished, Daniel’s mood and energy had improved exponentially. He could be the bigger man here. “Thank you,” he said. “I apologize for the inconvenience.”

The shuttered expression lifted. “I shouldn’t have called you a dog. I’d sleep as long as I wanted too if I could. You’re lucky.”

“And not just because I can sleep late if I want, yes?” The corner of his mouth twitched upward, just enough to disarm his words. But the statement spoke for itself. 

The look of surprise on Hamlyn’s face disappeared quickly, replaced by a slight nod. “I know it would never have gone anywhere, but it was nice to dream.”

His breakfast finished, Daniel stood up, nodded and extended his hand to Hamlyn.

Another brief look of surprise passed over his face, but he shook Daniel’s hand loosely.

 

Martin’s private bath house was all marble and high ceilings. It wasn’t the first time Daniel used it, but every time he walked in he was struck by the beauty of it. The sparkling water of the larger pool looked inviting. But the smaller one, the warmer one was exactly what he needed now.

A moment or two after he’d sunk into the warm water, footsteps drew near and Daniel opened his eyes to see Martin standing near the edge of the pool.

Neither of them said anything. Daniel looked away when Martin submerged opposite him. Still, neither spoke. This wasn’t nearly as relaxing as Daniel had planned on it being. 

Martin cleared his throat and finally Daniel noticed how tired he looked. His eyes looked bruised and his pallor paler than usual. “How are you feeling?” Martin asked.

“Better.” The soreness in his throat wasn’t quite gone but his voice was back to normal.

Leaning forward, Martin reached out and brushed his finger down Daniel’s throat. Daniel swallowed, unable to stop himself from leaning into the touch. Martin’s hand flattened, his palm encircling almost half of Daniel’s neck and dove into a desperate kiss. His lips pressed a little too hard against Daniel’s, hand on his throat firm enough that just a tad more pressure and he’d leave a mark. 

When they broke apart, Martin didn’t go far, pulling back just enough that Daniel could breathe comfortably. His hand still remained on his neck, more relaxed now. He stole another kiss, this one much slower and not half as aggressive as before. “I’m sorry for not understanding last night,” he said.

“It’s all right.” Daniel drew in a breath and shut his eyes. “What happened to the guardsman?”

“An agent of the Judgment took him into custody last night.”

Daniel opened his eyes again. 

Martin was staring at the marble floor behind the pool. “Kharo has overthrown Taria. She’s presumed dead.” He sighed, met Daniel’s eyes again. “I think war might be inevitable.”

Daniel pursed his lips. “I’ll try and find out more about the Flatlands. There’s a sizable archive in Maiden’s Fall, isn't there?”

“Yes,” Martin said. “Are you certain?”

“I am.”

 

With over half a dozen duties to perform, Martin left shortly after they’d cleaned themselves. 

Daniel would head out to Maiden’s Fall at first light. It was a two days ride from Silverstone Palace. He suspected he’d not find a concrete answer to this question of ownership of the Flatlands, but he had to try.

Approaching his chambers, Daniel was blindsided by Paloma who came rushing toward him and hugged him tight. 

“Thank you. I don’t know what what have-- I don’t know how to thank you enough,” she said, ending the embrace.

“No need. How is he?”

Paloma looked up at him, her eyes damp. “He’s fine. He’ll be back to his old self soon. He’s resilient. And young enough that it’s likely he won’t remember this later in life. How are you?”

“Good.”

She embraced him again. Let go just as Andrius and Thea were heading past them.

Daniel thought he heard Thea comment on them. Certain it wasn’t anything nice, Daniel ignored it. But he couldn’t help but notice the look on Andrius face. He was looking increasingly unhappy to Daniel the last few days and Daniel was begging to suspect that it wasn’t just that Martin had been made king. 

Andrius sent Thea ahead before him and stopped where Daniel and Paloma stood. 

He put his arms around Paloma, but something about it looked off and uncomfortable to Daniel. As if it were only half-sincere.


	11. Chapter Eleven

Three days and half the staff had been questioned. Martin was rapidly losing his patience; he’d done nothing about the news of Kharo on the Batavian throne. Nothing about his father’s suspicious death.

The council looked at him expectantly. 

He wasn’t ready to be king. But he was king. Everyone was looking to him to protect his people, his kingdom. “How many men would it take to defend the Flatlands?”

The Commander of his guard seemed to take a moment to consider it, as if this hadn’t been what he’d been advocating for as soon as Martin assumed the mantle of king. “10,000 strong at minimum, should Kharo attack.”

The king’s guard had only a hundred men. The majority of their force would be made up of Sylvakia’s army, as yet their outposts scattered across various provinces. The rest would be made up of ordinary folk. The people Martin was trying to protect. “How quickly could this force be gathered and deployed?”

Again the Commander looked to be in thought. Everything was happening so slowly, and too quickly at the same time. “A fortnight. Some of the forces would arrive quicker, a first defense of sorts. Depending on how long the battle lasts, we could call upon Endmark to fight. Let us not forget why you married Mr. Agger.”

A slow sinking feeling settled over Martin, like being gradually buried in quicksand. “Send word to have them prepare. We will not go to war unless provoked, but we will need to be ready.”

“Shall I send word to Endmark to do the same, your grace?” Illian said.

Martin rose from his chair. For a fleeting moment, he wished Daniel were here. He might not get along with his father, but he knew the man, would know his reaction, what he would expect in return. How indebted Sylvakia would be to Endmark for their aid. But even if Daniel were in the Palace, he was not allowed to sit on the council. “No. Not yet.”

For now, the rest of the staff needed questioning. 

Many of the people questioned Martin couldn’t remember ever having seen before, let alone talked to. What kind of king did that make him? He had to be better.

When the Commander pressed too hard, Martin tried to reel it back. He’d meant for the questioning to be more of an interview, not a full interrogation. There was a traitor in their midst, of that much he was certain. But not everyone would see kindly to this intrusion and if he meant to be the champion of the people, unlawful force and bullying pressure were not the way to go about it. 

“Perhaps it’s time you rested, your grace,” Illian suggested after they’d reaped absolutely nothing from the ninth person they’d interviewed that day.

They’d missed lunch and Martin hadn’t slept much in the last three days. But he couldn’t. There was too much to do, too much at stake. “That won’t be necessary. Send for the next one.”

Illian hesitated, but eventually gave a curt half-nod and sent one of his personal staff to do Martin’s bidding. 

 

When Daniel returned a couple of days later, Martin was no closer to finding the traitor in their midst. The dark circles under Daniel’s eyes didn’t suggest success on his part either.

As evening fell, foreboding in its darkness, Martin was finally free of the day’s duties and retreated to his chambers.

“I didn’t find anything,” Daniel said, already taken to pacing the length of the floor. “Nothing good in any case. The records from 1223 indicate the Flatlands as part of the Batavian Empire. In late 1224, Sylvakia calls it theirs but there is no legal document, no secession on behalf of the state or from the Empire itself. Legally it still belongs to them.” He stopped in his tracks and lifted his gaze to meet Martin’s. “You should give it back.”

Martin shuffled back a step, lips parting. “I can’t do that. The crops in the Flatlands produce a third of the Kingdom’s needs. If we lose it, there’d be famine. People would die.”

“People die in war too.”

Turning away from Daniel’s unflinching stare, Martin grimaced. “I’m trying to avoid war. But I won’t condemn a third of my people to starvation to get around it. If the Flatlands must be fought over, they will be.”

“Import grains and legumes and whatever else you can’t produce anymore. Introduce rationing, lower costs on meat products. Carve out a piece of land firmly yours to grow new crops.” His voice sounded closer with each word and finally Martin turned back toward him. “How did your people survive before your grandfather annexed a piece of the Batavian Empire?”

“They didn’t. For a hundred years famine reigned and it’s only in the last eighty years that we’ve been able to sustain the entire Kingdom. Poverty will still lead to starvation but it’s not in the thousands like it used to be. You can’t ask me to do this.”

“I believe in justice.”

“So do I, but I cannot sacrifice my people to serve it.”

“Instead you’ll drag my people into an unjust war they have no stake in, to keep a patch of land that’s not yours. How many Endish will die to keep a few Sylvakians well-fed?” The carefully controlled tone of Daniel’s voice did nothing to soften the blow of his words.

Martin could feel his muscles tensing, his face going hard and he just knew his voice would come out taut and barely controlled. 

The knock on the door eased the tension. 

“Your grace, an agent of the Judgment is requesting to see Prince Agger.”  
The hot stab in Martin’s gut had nothing to do with their argument. His eyes found Daniel’s, but what words he wanted to speak never made it out of his throat. 

Daniel twisted further from the door, and licked his lips.

Barely trusting himself to speak, Martin cleared his throat. “Send for Illian and escort the agent to the council chambers.”

“Very well.”

He drew in a shaky breath. There was only one reason for the Justice to be here and that was magic. Who’d turned Daniel in? The traitor? Maybe the guard Martin had turned into the Judgment. How could he be so stupid? Sebastian’s assailant had seen everything. 

He put his head in his hands. 

“Maybe it’s not what we think,” Daniel said, though the unsteadiness of his voice told Martin how much he didn’t believe that.

Martin heaved a sigh. “What are we going to do?”

Shoulders slumped, Daniel pursed his lips. “I believe in justice.”

The desire to lash out, to grab Daniel by the shoulders and shake and shout and plead him out of his blind faith was almost overwhelming. Instead he breathed in deep and followed Daniel out the door, his legs like lead.

When they got to the council chambers, Illian stood looking haggard surrounded by not one, but four agents of the Judgment. 

One of them approached, the other three standing at the ready. “Daniel Agger, you are hereby under arrest for the suspicion of practicing magic.” He took Daniel’s arm and curled it behind his back, placing restraints on his wrist. “Once questioned, you will be given a chance to review your case, the evidence presented against you and answer to the allegations. If found guilty, you will be sentenced to life in a facility known as Sanctum.”

Chills threaded themselves through Martin’s stomach. His heart beat a sluggish rhythm in his chest, but he kept motionless as the agents marched Daniel out, hands bound behind his back. 

There were no words. He looked to Illian, at a loss, but for once saw nothing reassuring in the old man’s face. 

Dignity be damned. Something started in Martin and he scrambled out the door to chase after the agents. The thud of Illian’s feet on the marble floor following him as he rushed down the hallway. 

Stopped in his tracks when he got outside just in time to see Daniel shoved into a horse drawn carriage with bars instead of windows. 

What was he supposed to do? A hand landed on his shoulder, firm and unshakeable, but it was the last thing Martin needed. 

Daniel didn’t once look at him. Then he was gone.


	12. Chapter Twelve

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This one gave me a lot of trouble. I usually prefer writing from just one POV, so when planning this story some things slipped through, like this part. But it's here now and the homestretch is better planned out so hopefully won't take this long...

Daniel’s cell was damp and drafty, and the threadbare blanket on the narrow bed did little to warm him. He hadn’t been there for half a day, yet could already feel his resolve breaking. Resolve for what, he wasn’t sure. 

He was never so unsure of anything and everything as when he had ample time in his own head, with nothing but his thoughts for company. Not out of loneliness or a desire for human companionship, but simply because his thoughts never made good company. It was like supping with leaders of many opposing armies, with opposing ideals, all vying for his support.

Trusting to justice wasn’t just a choice. It was who Daniel was, who he wanted to continue being, but spending a lifetime in Sanctum for saving the life of a child seemed a cruel punishment.

There were no mitigating factors when it came to magic. There never were. It was outlawed and with good reason. Daniel knew that. He _believed_ in it, but evidently not enough to stop himself from using it. What was he supposed to have done? Let Sebastian die, simply because saving him couldn’t have been done without it? He couldn’t.

Did he deserve to live the rest of his days in a locked cell? Before he wouldn’t have doubted it. Now he wasn’t so sure.

Hypocrisy did not make for a pleasant bedfellow. 

The agents didn’t speak to him and Daniel didn’t speak to them either. Not until they notified him Martin had arrived. 

He could barely believe they were letting him speak to Martin. He must have had a hard time persuading them. But the thought disappeared under the strong current of relief he felt when Martin walked up. 

The agent on guard even gave them a little privacy, standing guard further down the corridor than he’d been doing all day. Daniel’s cell was still locked, though. For the moment, it didn’t matter. 

He gaped, unable to put any of his myriad feelings into words. 

Martin spoke first. “How are keeping?”

“All right.” Daniel stood up and walked closer. “I’m sorry,” he said, a little unclear as to why, but feeling it strongly nonetheless.

“Don’t be.” Martin looked away for a moment. When his eyes found Daniel’s again, his voice came out barely about a whisper. “Don’t confess. They’ll lock you up for good.”

“I know.” But it couldn’t be as simple as that. They had to have some evidence against him – something to suggest he had healed Sebastian unnaturally. “But maybe I have to.”

“Don’t.” 

Daniel wet his lips. “Maybe I have to,” he repeated and gripped one of the iron bars separating him from Martin. “I can’t abandon what I believe in just because it’s inconvenient for me.”

“The problem with that is it’s based on the perception that the world is just,” Martin said, but he was wrong. The world was anything but just, but that was why justice was so important to Daniel. “Justice is often flawed. Should you have let Sebastian die?”

“No.” Daniel was firm in that, at least. Whatever political unrest, whatever plot there was afoot in the Silverstone Palace, Sebastian was an innocent child and should never have been put in the middle of all that. 

“Then why should you be punished for it?” He stared hard, unflinching, on the cusp of raising his voice.

The agent on guard called out that their time was up. 

Martin grasped Daniel’s hand on the cold steel bar. “Don’t confess.”

 

When escorted to the interview room, Daniel had every intention of doing exactly what Martin had told him not to. But once he was seated opposite yet another agent, he changed his mind again. He was only twenty; why should he spent the rest of his life in a locked cell, surviving on third-rate food with nothing but himself for company?

“You stand accused of practicing magic,” the agent said, deep voice not quite booming off the bare walls. “How do you respond?”

Daniel steeled himself. “It’s my understanding that I have a right to know who my accuser is?”

The expression on the agent’s face didn’t change in the slightest. Blank and serious as ever. “Once you’ve answered all our questions, you’ll get your answers as well. Did you use magic?”

“No.”

“A witness account says otherwise.”

“Then it’s my word against his, is it not? How do you determine which of us is telling the truth?”

“Hold all questions until you’ve answered ours. I won’t tell you again.”

Fine. He’d made his point. If it was just the single witness –- and if that witness was who Daniel thought it was –- then there was no way to prove who was lying. 

When Daniel stayed silent for another stretch of time, the agent continued. “If not with magic, then how did you save the child’s life? Both the boy’s mother and the king said his throat had been cut.”

Fie. “I fostered with a healer until last year. And the cut on Sebastian’s throat was not as deep as it looked at first.” 

The agent smiled, a tight and uncomfortable-looking stretch of lips. “I would wonder why an assailant with a knife to a boy’s throat failed to cut deep enough to seriously wound, at the very least.”

Daniel refused to raise his hackles. He could do this. He hated it, but he could do it. “Perhaps he should’ve sharpened his knife first, if his intent was to kill.” Matter of fact and evenhanded, though it made his stomach churn because the attacker must have done exactly that. “The blade was dull and at the first sign of pain, Sebastian broke away.” 

“The witness says it took you a lot of effort but you healed him with nothing but your hands. No herbs or medicine of any kind.”

Resisting the urge to sigh, Daniel tried to adopt a casual air so what he said would sound less confrontational. “I already told you. There was a trickle of blood and I thought he’d been hurt. But there was no need to heal him. The wound was shallow enough to heal on its own.”

“So you deny all accusations?”

“Yes.” It was increasingly difficult to keep his discomfort in check, but he managed. “Now may I know who my accuser is?”

The agent did not speak for a moment. He simply stared. Then: “The assailant made the accusation.”

As he’d thought. He nodded, and thought perhaps he should say something more. If it really was just his word against the assailant’s, he thought it reasonably possible he’d avoid a life-sentence in Sanctum. As far as credibility went, the assailant had been caught and arrested and then accused Daniel of practicing magic. Daniel, on the other hand, had no demonstrable crime to cover up. Maybe it was privilege talking –- though he was loath to actually think of himself as particularly privileged as he’d lived like a commoner for more than half his life –- but his word had to be worth just a little more than the attacker’s. 

“Any further questions?” The agent said.

“How will you determine the truth if it’s my word against the assailant’s?” He didn’t know the man’s name and that was to his advantage. The only way to identify him reinforced the idea that the man was not innocent.

“That’s not information we divulge. You can be assured your story will be thoroughly examined. If there are no more questions, you’ll be escorted back to your cell where you will remain until such time your story is proven true or untrue.”

For now, Daniel would pray to any and all deities he could think of that what staff was in attendance that night would not betray him. It was not a comforting thought.

 

Days blended together. Time had little meaning now that Daniel had too much of it. Whatever strings Martin had pulled to be permitted to visit him that first day had been hefty enough he hadn’t managed to tug on them again. 

The worst was not knowing. Had the Judgment interviewed Martin? Paloma? The guards who’d been tasked with their protection? They’d seen everything too. 

On the sixth day –- or possibly the seventh –- the agent who had interviewed him came to him. 

“Prince Agger,” he said, voice exuding gravitas. “Your story can neither be confirmed nor denied. Until such time that we can, you will remain in our custody.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'd also like to stress, in case it's not obvious, that the justice system in this fantasy world, is not meant to reflect the one in the world we live in.

**Author's Note:**

> I do apologize for the less than creative name of the boys' respective kingdoms but I wanted names that seemed to fit with where they are from in real life, so that's why they sound remarkably similar. Made up a bunch of names and nothing felt like it fit except these.


End file.
